


There Will (Actually) Be Blood

by EmilyweepsforPilfrey



Category: In the Loop (2009), In the Loop (2009) & The Thick of It, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: And there wasn't any fucking blood!, Gen, Jamie Macdonald- Entrepreneur, Jamie probably had his mouth washed out with soap a lot as a child, Life after politics, M/M, as you might've guessed, but if you're here in this fandom you probably expect that, but there is something there, could be read as platonic if you prefer, not super shippy, post-prison for Malc, rated for language, sorry - Freeform, there's talk of blood though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyweepsforPilfrey/pseuds/EmilyweepsforPilfrey
Summary: After leaving the political scene for good, Jamie finally pursues his idea of creating a cinema that only shows There Will Be Blood* and There Will Be Tits**.*But there is actually a decent amount of blood** There's also an adequate amount of tits





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, after several years of sitting in my WIP folder, this is finally done. Yay! Enjoy.

_I went to see that film There Will Be Blood, right? And it’s a fucking great title. If someone says to you, “Do you fancy going to see a film?” “Oh, um, I don't know. Will there be blood?” “There Will Be Blood. Right!” “I’m in, I'm in!” I mean that is a fucking great title for a film. I mean you couldn't have a better title for a film. Oh, apart from, maybe, There Will Be Tits. **You could have a cinema that just shows There Will Be Blood and There Will Be Tits** , you don't need any other films! That's the end of cinema right there!...I went to see There Will Be Blood and there wasn't any fucking blood!... Och, there was hardly any fucking blood._

\- Jamie Macdonald, In the Loop.

 

Jamie MacDonald had a lot of great ideas. In fact, every single idea of his was a fucking great one. Everyone else didn’t always feel that way (Malcolm) and a few might even voice their criticism (Malcolm again) but Jamie knew they were fucking quality ideas. Jamie knew when he had a good idea and when he did, he went for it.

So when Jamie found himself standing outside Downing Street with only a cardboard box of things that formerly lived in his desk, jobless, homeless (he didn’t think he was welcome at Malcolm’s anymore) and friendless (because fuck Malcolm) Jamie knew it was time for a fucking great idea. He walked down the street, memories of his time as Malcolm’s number one attack dog drifting through his mind. He’d left in a whirlwind of expletives, threats and accusations, most of them directed at Malcolm. They hadn’t come to blows, although from the looks of the office workers witnessing the fight they weren’t too far off. Of course, the sparring with them was all verbal. There was no actual bloodshed. It was like that fucking film where there wasn’t any fucking blood! Someone really had to do a decent remake of it. One with some actual fucking blood. Maybe he should do it, Jamie thought to himself as he walked.

Then, two weeks later, Jamie saw a ‘For Sale’ ad in the paper for a small cinema back home and it was like it was fate. He’d spent too fucking long down south and the nieces and nephews would appreciate having him around more often.

So it was happening: a cinema that showed tits and blood. The problem was Jamie needed a movie that met his criteria for a lot of fucking blood... and that was _a lot of fucking blood._ So he pulled out a notebook and a pen and got to work. He had an idea for a film with a lot of blood and it was a fucking great idea.

That was how Jamie found himself, less than 12 months after leaving politics, the owner of a small cinema and the writer of a small budget action comedy that played exclusively in said cinema. _There Will Actually Be Fucking Blood._ Of course, the title had to be censored for promotional material and reviews – although Jamie ignored all of those after one that described it as the sort of film you’d expect a 12 year old boy to make for a mandatory filmmaking class and another that simply referred to it as “pure shite”. Well fuck them.

The first year was a bit of a struggle for the little cinema, given that it only showed one film, but the people Jamie had managed to terrify into making his cinematic dream a reality were on board to make another film and so _There Will Be Tits_ came to be. Business improved a lot after that and Jamie credited himself with jumpstarting the careers of several young attractive actresses. The place became a hotspot for pervy young men to take unsuspecting women on first dates. The men were regulars but the women never seemed to return.

One surprising consequence of the film’s success was that Jamie had several interested parties wanting to book the entire cinema for bachelor parties. It paid well and Jamie wasn’t opposed to having the occasional stripper or two around the place.

So Jamie finally had a cinema that just showed blood and tits. Hell, he thought to himself, he should see if he could get the rights to Game of Thrones. That would improve business. After several unsuccessful shouty phone calls, it became apparent that they didn’t just allow random cinemas to show Game of Thrones, even if they promised to buy the DVD and not just illegally download it. Fuckers.

But their refusal turned out to be the inspiration that Jamie needed to start his third film. He didn’t need to show someone else’s show about a bunch of inbred fucks knifing each other in the back for power. He knew all about that; he’d been in the thick of it for years. And so the idea for the short awaited sequel to _There Will Actually Be Fucking Blood_ was born: _There Will Actually Be Fucking Blood: A Game of Government_. He’d see if he could get Clooney to play Malcolm. Malc would like that. Jamie grabbed a scrap of paper from his desk and pulled the cap off a pen with his teeth. _Dear Mr Clooney..._

He ended the note with a postscript – because, fuck, he forgot to ask the most important question - and a satisfied nod of his head.

_P.S. Can you do a proper Scottish accent?_

Surely the letter would do the trick and so that was one character sorted. Now he only had to write and cast the rest of the film.

Nearly four years to the day after he had walked out on everything – his job, his life, Malcolm – Jamie found himself running a somewhat successful cinema that showcased three of his own films. At least he’d done something with his life. He even had people working for him, manning the counters, cleaning up spilt popcorn from the aisles and doing all the shit jobs that Jamie would deny he had done at first. But of course the downside of employees was that they didn’t fucking turn up when they were supposed to. The scrawny, pimply teen that usually worked the box office on Friday evenings had called in sick, like that was some sort of an excuse. Jamie didn’t care if he was sick or if he had blood spurting from him or whatever else he thought was a fucking excuse. You didn’t call in sick 20 minutes before the busiest night of the week. It didn’t help that Jamie was fairly sure the kid was off shagging his girlfriend. Lucky fuck.

So Jamie was left to sit behind the counter and sell tickets and popcorn and those little choc top things that everybody fucking loved. Luckily – or perhaps unluckily since Jamie’s entire fucking livelihood was tied up in this fucking place – business was slow. Jamie used the time to catch up on the tasks that he knew his workers would just pawn off onto the next person. He was refilling the change in the till when he heard the approaching footsteps of a customer.

“I’ll be with you in a sec,” Jamie said, head down.

The customer gave a short laugh. It was comforting, like a friendly hand on the shoulder.

“So this film about the politician fucks, is there actually any fucking blood?”

Jamie’s head shot up at the sound of the voice that was so familiar to him despite the fact he hadn’t heard it in years.

“What sort of fucking question is that?” Jamie shot back. “Of course there’s fucking blood!”

Malcolm laughed again. “So you actually did it – the tits and blood cinema.”

Jamie scoffed. “Course. It was a fucking great idea.”

“And Game of Government?” Malcolm continued, raising his eyebrow in a smirk.

“It fucking works and you know it,” Jamie defended. “Fuck that place is like bloody Westeros back there, even down to the fucking incest.”

“I hope you got someone decent to play me.”

“Well, Clooney never replied to my letters so I had to go in a different direction.”

Malcolm laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. I thought you’d get a kick out of that.”

It was then that Jamie noticed just how the years had taken their toll on Malcolm. He looked skinnier, his face more gaunt, the spark in his eyes seemed to have gone out. Jamie wondered if he could find it. He couldn’t accept that it was gone for good. Not his Malcolm.

“I heard you went to...” Jamie trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. “My cousin’s in for armed rob. I asked him to...”

“I know,” Malcolm said softly.

Malcolm had known Jamie had asked his cousin to look out for him when, on Malcolm's first day in prison, a wee Scottish man had threatened to use the leg of a rusty chair to stab anyone who even thought about doing something to Malcolm. He appreciated the concern, but it was unnecessary. With the exception of a couple of prisoners, Malcolm had had the majority of the inmates terrified of him thanks to his verbal assaults. But prison had been hard on him. Anyone could see that. 

Silence fell over them and all of a sudden it hit Jamie just how much he’d missed the older man’s company.

Malcolm cleared his throat.

“So, shall we see how much tits and blood this movie actually has?”

Jamie nodded, hastily closing up the box office so he could join Malcolm in the theatre – another benefit of running a cinema.

“You’ll love what I’ve done to the opposition leader. There are Viking raids less violent than this.”

Malcolm chuckled.

“I could do with seeing the old enemies get brutally fucked.”

“Just wait until you see the bit where Steve Fleming’s head explodes,” Jamie said as they settled into their seats at the back of the cinema. “Fucking cinematic brilliance. Trust me, there _will_ be fucking blood!”

Malcolm turned to Jamie and gave him a rare smile.

It was almost like old times.

Fuck, he’d missed this.


End file.
